Chapter 17- Locked Doors
Artham was pacing again. He told himself to stop because it seeed like his nervous habit made it much easier for everyone to read him. A few minutes later, he found himself pacing again. He shrugged. He thought better when he was moving, anyway. Candlelight flickered off the leathery spines of the many volumes in the shelves covering every wall of the library. It filled the room with a warm glow, like a reflection of the warm sunset that had disappeared when Artham had been walking away from the Resting Place. For hours now, the dark night sky had been speckled with stars. Every time Artham turned around in his constant walk the dancing light illuminated the pain and confusion in his eyes. The thoughts that swirled around inside him were so jumbled he didn’t know what to think.
Question after question, echo after painful echo of past voices floated to the surface until Artham’s mind swam. He paused and reached out a hand to steady himself against the bookshelf. He told himself to breathe deeply, and think about one thing at a time. He forced the jumbled thoughts to pause, and felt a moment’s relief.
Protect. The word that echoed through the halls of time, passed down by Throne Warden after Throne Warden arose from the confused turmoil of his mind. A pang of guilt shot through him, bringing an onslaught of other words and memories. Suddenly, Artham felt stifled and crowded by the small space between the bookshelves that to him had always meant freedom.
I just need some fresh air, he told himself. He paced quickly to the large glass doors that swung inward, opening up onto the small half circle balcony. He went to the stone rail that ran around it and gripped it with all his might until his knuckles turned white and the rough grain of the stone was imprinted on his fingers.
Protect. Artham released the rail and laid his head in his hands, the events of the last couple of months playing themselves out over and over again in his mind, until they stopped on one memory. It had been just after the brothers had heard the news that had changed their world.
“Just stay here with me please? I don’t want to be alone.”
Protect.
“How?” The word escaped Artham’s mouth in a low, rough voice without him realizing he had spoken.
“I don’t know what to do,” The cry that had started almost defiantly dropped to a whisper, and Artham’s voice shook at the end.
“I don’t know what to do,” he whispered, his voice cracking. He rested his forehead on his palms and sighed shakily. Out alone on the balcony, by himself before the black sky, cold stars twinkling so far away, he wanted nothing more than to go with his confusion and his hurting to his parents, or to his aunt. The very thought of the strength he had found in them made him feel even more alone and weak. His heart yearned for the love and peace and refuge he had taken for granted. In a voice so quiet it could scarcely be heard, he whispered into the darkness,
“I still need you.” He stood stone still for a moment, his only movement from his ragged drawing of breath, then quickly rubbed a rough hand across his eyes and stood straight, gazing out at the dark sky, as if searching it for something that would ease his burning pain.
“Why are we alone?” The roughly spoken question verged in the edges of a defiant shout. Anger slowly rose again inside him like a tide, breaking against the shores of his grief.
“Why did you let any of this happen?” The suppressed anger flamed hot inside Artham, and he looked down, away from the dark sky, his muscles tight and tense.
“I just want to know why.” The wide expanse of sky was silent, and Artham’s burst of anger ebbed slowly, leaving his tense body trembling slightly. He was exhausted. He didn’t want to be angry. He knew he shouldn’t be, but he couldn’t stop it. He was tired of anger, tired of the questions that seemed to eat away at him, finding no satisfaction.
“Why?” His faint murmur disappeared into the breeze. He searched his mind for any answer that could quell the destructive, exhausting heat of his anger.
“He always cares, no matter how far away or silent he may seem.” The phrase that appeared so suddenly in the turmoil of his thoughts surprised him, and he had to think for a few moments before he could place it. Three years ago. Artham had only been Esben’s age at the time. He didn’t remember the cause or the beginning of the conversation, but he remembered asking his father how he could trust so strongly in someone he couldn’t see. All his life, Artham had known the Maker was real, as surely as he knew that the sun was going to rise in the morning, and he believed that the Maker created and controlled all things, even life, but he had marveled at his father’s joy in faith that was a day-by-day thing.
“Even when we don’t see or hear Him, He works in our lives through people, or circumstances. He is always here. Son, you have been with me into the entrance to the Fane. It lies unopened, but can’t you feel His presence?” Artham nodded silently.
“Even when the terrible things happen. Even when we don’t understand. Because sometimes we won’t. Sometimes we will go through the hard times without ever seeing a reason. But He is there, He cares. And He holds your life in his hands, Artham, whether or not you place it there.” Jru chuckled slightly, but there was true seriousness in his eyes.
“And throughout the course of my life, I have found that to rely on Him, rather than to resist, is the only way we can make it through those times.”
Artham still had his bowed head in his hands, but now he straightened up again, gazing out at the stars, scarcely noticing the dim smudge of pale daylight that arose on the horizon.
“It’s all in your hands. I am. Esben is. Our kingdom is. Our future is,” he murmured. “I can’t fight any more, and I can’t do any of this by myself.” He closed his eyes and placed his hands on the rail again, his head bowed in exhaustion.
“So I’m relying on You.” He stood in a weary silence, letting go of the control he had tried to have over himself and over his circumstances.
“I can’t fix any of this. I can’t be Throne Warden. I can’t stop these feelings. So I’m relying on You.” His voice grew quiet.
“Please help me,” he whispered. He stood there in silence, and as the sun rose in fiery streaks of wild beauty, he let the breeze blowing out of the forest dry his face as he tried to think of what he would do next. After a while, he wandered back into the library.
I need to go talk to Esben. He walked through the library, putting out the few candles and lamps that had been lit throughout the night as he tried to think of what he would say.
I’m relying on You now. A feeling of peace settled over Artham, and he decided that he would figure out what to say when he got there. He turned his head in surprise when he heard footsteps in the hall and someone turning the doorknob. For a moment, he thought it would be Esben, but he discarded the thought. He realized he had come to close to the door when he had to jump back quickly to avoid its opening swing.
“Your Highness? Er, Artham?” A sandy-haired skinny twelve year old leaned into the room, grabbing the door frame, not yet seeing Artham.
“Right here,” Artham replied. “What is it?” The boy turned to face Artham.
“Wow, you look terrible-er, begging your pardon, Your Highness,” the boy bowed awkwardly, and Artham stifled a laugh.
“No need to apologize, now, is something wrong?”
“Er, it depends on what you mean by wrong, Your Highness.” Artham sighed.
“Tell me what’s going on, and drop the ‘Your Highness’ business,” he said gently.
“Yes sir. Er…well, you see Lord Bonifer sent me to look for you because your brother has locked himself into his room. And he won’t let anyone go in. He locked the door, sir. And can’t nobody get in.”
“Alright. Thank you, Derik. You can go now.” Artham looked toward the hall that led to their bedrooms, frowning.
“Er, yes sir.” The boy ran off and Artham began to walk quickly down the hallway, making sure that his face showed no trace of what had happened that night. As he turned the corner, he saw Bonifer, another councilman, and a steward, all looking very concerned at Esben’s door.
“What’s wrong?” He asked, already knowing, but hoping it wasn’t true, but needing confirmation. Bonifer glanced at him, an annoyed spark in his eyes, but the old councilor quickly mastered it after surveying Artham’s tired form.
“Ah, so Derik found you. There is a dinner with the guests this afternoon, and I had come to see if you two were preparing, and how you were doing. I come to find you vanished and your brother closed in his room, refusing to notice my knocking. Would you mind?” Bonifer gestured to the door, stepping back. Artham nodded. He knocked gently on the door.
“Hey, Es, will you open the door? It’s Artham. Will you let me in?” He waited for a few moments, each growing more uncomfortable as the silence on the other side of the door grew deeper, if that was possible. He heard a rustling inside, and tried the door. It was still locked fast.
He told himself to stop because it seeed like his nervous habit made it much easier for everyone to read him.
I make the same mistake, don't worry